


Please Leave a Message At The Tone

by missjo



Series: Jimmy Kent and His Amazing Potential Sexual Harassment Suit [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missjo/pseuds/missjo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my attempt at the now outdated Take Your Fandom To Work meme! I can't believe I started this back on June 4th. Ahem. So - Modern AU! This has never happened, to my knowledge, in my office. Just some fun. Oh, and I don't know how title companies work in the UK. This is modeled after my own in the US, since that was the point!, so I'm sorry if anything is inaccurate. ENJOY! PS - THERE BE SMUT</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Leave a Message At The Tone

Jimmy was sure he was going to die of boredom. Right there at the desk in the bland, silent lobby of the office he had begun temping for during summer hols. All of the title attorneys were doing closings out of the office and he knew the manager, Mr. Carson, was away at a lunch meeting. He was tempted to go amuse himself charming the girls in the back but he knew Mr. Carson would eat him alive if he were to found him there when he returned.

It was just so quiet. The occasional ring of the phone was the only thing breaking the silence.

He let his mind wander in the silence. Much to his dismay it kept choosing to wander in the direction of the head attorney, Mr. Barrow. When he’d first started Jimmy hadn’t had a second thought to spare for the tall, dark-haired attorney. Then he had chosen to ask Jimmy out for a drink to congratulate him on a good first week and Mrs. O’Brien, the old witch back in the policies department, had insisted that schmoozing it up with him was a good idea.

It hadn’t been so bad, really. Mr. Barrow was amusing in a dry, cutting sort of way and the fact that he was extremely influential in the office was not lost on Jimmy. He’d had to withstand Mr. Barrow talking low into his ear and a wandering hand or two but he’d survived that. Ever since Mr. Barrow had given him lingering looks and the occasional shoulder squeeze but that was all, thankfully.

No harm had been done and Jimmy had to admit, ears burning in embarrassment, that he had possibly enjoyed Mr. Barrow’s company.

It was the feel of Mr. Barrow’s hand on his thigh that his mind seemed to want to fixate on. The warm, firm press of it through his trousers. Mr. Barrow’s palm was surprisingly broad and steady, his fingers were long enough to wrap almost entirely around the front of his thigh. The memory made his cheeks flush.

Why was he focusing on such silly nonsense? It wasn’t as if Jimmy were some giant poofter. He liked girls. He liked their smell, their giggles, the softness of their skin, and, most importantly, the looks on their faces when he charmed them. Yes, all of this was just some funny nonsense.

The phone rang, shaking Jimmy from his thoughts. He cleared his throat once before answering.

"Downton and Associates, how may I direct your call?" Jimmy asked, hoping his tone didn’t give away his boredom. He spun in his chair to check the clock on his computer. Bloody hell, he still had four hours left of this rot.

“Jimmy!” Mr. Barrow exclaimed in that almost chipper tone his voice seemed to take on whenever he spoke to him. It was the tone that got the both of them funny looks whenever he used it with other people around. Jimmy felt very uncomfortable with that tone. “How’s it over there, then?”

Jimmy shrugged and began to pick at a hangnail. “Quiet. Mr. Carson had a lunch meeting and all the others are out.”

Mr. Barrow tsked. “You must be dyin’ from the quiet.”

Jimmy wasn’t sure how best to reply. Then he recalled the sharp, cutting way he had talked about the job and the people --  _Jimmy, if yer lookin’ for a way to make money, real estate law is not the place -- an’ -- and it’s filled with the most ridiculous people… take Mr. Bates for instance_ \-- and grinned despite himself.

“I’ve had more interestin’ afternoons, Mr. Barrow,” he told him dryly.

Mr. Barrow chuckled into the phone. “Perhaps I can entertain you? And, for what must be the hundredth time, it’s Thomas. Please.”

The almost intimacy of it made Jimmy bite his lower lip. Surely Mr. Barrow -- Jimmy simply refused to call him Thomas on principle -- hadn’t called simply to speak to him? Surely he had to check in with Daisy or one of the other silly girls in the processing department, or perhaps the post-closing department, about something, hadn’t he? The thought that perhaps he had, in fact, called for him intentionally made something foreign and strange unfurl in his stomach.

“What did you have in mind,  _Mr. Barrow_?”

There was a brief pause. For a second Jimmy worried he had offended him by refusing to call him by his given name.

“Did you enjoy yourself the other night?”

The memory of Mr. Barrow’s hand on his thigh returned. Jimmy felt himself blush and was grateful for the distance the phone created; he would be mortified for someone to see him acting like some silly school girl.

“Er. I did. Yes, Mr. Barrow, thank you,” he choked out awkwardly.

Mr. Barrow cleared his throat. When he spoke again his voice was lower, rougher even. “Good. That’s good, Jimmy. I’m glad to hear that. I had a nice time too.”

Jimmy’s stomach clenched and twisted again as they sat there in silence. He wasn’t sure what to follow that up with so he said the first thing that came to mind.

“We should do it again sometime?” he suggested, sounding too eager for his liking. He winced.

Mr. Barrow chuckled. The deep, low sound made Jimmy’s stomach twist again. “Perhaps we should.”

The memory of Mr. Barrow’s hand pressing into his thigh was so vivid that he could almost feel his warm, broad palm resting there. He recalled the way his stubble had grazed lightly around the shell of his ear when he had leaned into murmur some sharp barb or another and shivered.

“Yes,” he managed in a voice he didn’t quite recognize as his own.

“Alright, Jimmy?”

“Fine,” Jimmy responded a little too quickly.

“You sound a little… flustered, is all.”

“I assure you I’m quite well,” Jimmy snapped and had to control the impulse to hang up on him. He couldn’t really do that, could he, in his position?

Mr. Barrow paused. “Good. I wouldn’t want to upset you.”

“Um. Thanks?”

“Would much rather make you feel good,” Mr. Barrow continued in that rough tone. It made Jimmy’s stomach clench up again. “I could do that, y’know.”

The thoughts that brought to the surface made Jimmy’s throat go dry. He had to swallow a few times before he trusted himself to speak. “Make me feel good?” he asked, his voice shaking, though with fear or excitement he couldn’t be sure.

“Yes,” Mr. Barrow all but growled into the phone. Jimmy heard shuffling that had to mean he was resituating himself in his seat. “Would you like me to tell you how?”

Jimmy’s face warmed. He took a quick glance around the room and shifted forward in his seat. He told himself that he wasn’t gay -- of course he wasn’t -- but, it was alright to be curious, right? Especially if entertaining Mr. Barrow’s fantasies might mean a good reference when he was finished with pre-law next year. Yes, that was the right sort of motivation.

He cleared his throat. “Go on then.”

“I’d start with your mouth. It’s always begging to be kissed. Then your jaw; your neck,” Mr. Barrow told him. Jimmy could hear his breathing becoming more labored as he spoke. “My hands would be on those firm thighs f’yours -- I saw how much you liked that -- I’d massage them--”

Jimmy pressed his own hand to his thigh and let out a shaky breath. He closed his eyes to better remember his touch. His hand was as broad as Jimmy’s but his fingers -- his fingers had been longer. They had wrapped around just enough to brush against his inner thigh. Jimmy slowly parted his legs and slid his hand until his fingertips brushed the same spot.

“And then what?” he asked, trying to retain control of his voice. It wouldn’t do to let Mr. Barrow onto the affect he was having over him. Jimmy wasn’t comfortable knowing himself.

He heard Mr. Barrow shift and take a steadying breath in his ear. “My hands would travel up those thighs while I bit at your neck. I’d tug your trousers, your pants, down past your knees to get a better --  _god_  -- a better feel of you.”

Jimmy heard the sound of a zipper and then realized the rustling noise he was hearing was most likely Mr. Barrow touching himself. He bit his lip at the visual it brought to mind -- long legs parted, trousers open, one of those long, slim fingered hands wrapped around his leaking cock, teeth pressing into blood red lips to stop the moans from escaping and scaring Jimmy off.

Jimmy choked on a moan of his own and felt himself go rock hard in his trousers. So -- not straight then. He’d have to deal with that later.

“Hng -- I’d, um, I’d part my legs for you,” he told him with a whimper.

Mr. Barrow breathed harder into the phone. “You’d feel so good, Jimmy, hot and-- and wanting as I took you in my hand.” He paused. “I’d take my time learning the length and girth of you before I stroked you hard and fast to attention.”

Jimmy rolled his chair until his legs were hidden fully under the desk and, with one last glance around the empty office, pressed his palm flat against the bulge in his trousers.

“I’m there,” he whispered.

He thrilled when Mr. Barrow’s breath caught. Just the thought of touching Jimmy was enough to make so stoic and controlled a man lose control like this. It was intoxicating.

“I’d kiss your beautiful, leaking prick, swirl my tongue around the tip, and then I’d swallow you whole.”

The image of that sinful mouth wrapped around his prick, alabaster cheeks hollowing out around him, was almost enough to do Jimmy in. He bit down hard on his bottom lip to hold back a moan as he stroked himself through his trousers.

“You’d like my mouth around you. You’d gag for it. I’d suck you until you were about to die from it,” Mr. Barrow was murmuring, low and filthy into his ear, his words coming quicker now.

“Ah--!” Unable to take it anymore, Jimmy unfastened his fly and took himself in hand. The contact was dizzying. It was too good; he was so close. He pumped himself hard and fast, the way he imagined Mr. Barrow would do it. “ _Hngg_ \--”

“You’d scream my name as you came down my throat and I-- and I’d swallow every last bit of you -- oh  _god_ \--” Mr. Barrow growled into the phone.

Jimmy imagined him all disheveled and so desperately close to the edge. “Thomas--” he whispered as he came around his hand and slumped forward in his seat.

Saying his name seemed to do it. Jimmy tried to focus on the soft, broken whimper Mr. Barrow made through the ringing in his own ears. Then there was nothing left but the both of them gasping for breath into the receiver.

“Jimmy?” Mr. Barrow asked, cutting through the moment like a knife.

“Nn?”

“ _Jimmy_.”

“What?” Jimmy asked, snapping out of his haze and forcing himself to sit back upright.

“I need to go into a settlement now,” Mr. Barrow explained, his smooth, business-like tone returning with an ease that unsettled Jimmy somewhat. “Can you get me on the phone with Daisy first? I need to ask her about something in the file.”

“Er. Um. Sure. Yeah,” Jimmy babbled and looked down at his sticky hand. He blushed at the sight and, in a moment of panic, wiped it on the nearest piece of paper before dialing Daisy’s extension and hanging up the phone with a firm click.

“Jimmy, have you finished those contracts yet?” Mr. Carson asked expectantly as he walked through the lobby doors.

Jimmy’s gut sank as he looked down at the piece of paper he had just wiped his hand on. Sure enough, it was the first page of a contract in the pile Mr. Carson had set on his desk for him. The pile he hadn’t started working on yet. Bollocks.

He fought back a blush as he looked up into Mr. Carson’s imperious face. “No, Mr. Carson, but they should be finished soon,” he told him stiffly.

“See that they are,” Mr. Carson intoned and made his way past Jimmy’s desk and down the hallway to his office.

Jimmy hurriedly tucked himself back into his trousers and ran his clean hand through his hair. Later he would have to talk to Mr. Barrow about this most recent development but for now he had to get back to work. This summer temp job was turning out to be much more of an experience than he had expected.


End file.
